Family Business
by ChronicallyinFlaming
Summary: A series of one-shots in which Bastila is sometimes a good daughter, but Revan is not a very good son-in-law (but does try to be a good husband).


Happy Mother's Day!

* * *

 _I'm sorry Ms. Jackson (oh)  
I am for real  
Never meant to make your daughter cry  
I apologize a trillion times _

**Ms. Jackson, Outkast**

 _When and how did I become my mother  
Am I getting on your nerves? _

**Don't Stop, Brazilian Girls**

* * *

Her newest visitor woke her up with his profuse apologize for waking her up. He brought a bunch of bright, wasteful flowers sprouted from his bony hand, and news of the galaxy and more importantly, her daughter. The galaxy was slowly repairing itself from the Sith, eventually, and things might be looking up. Was she allergic to these…no? well, Bastila was doing better. Much fewer nightmares. She was finding peace and calm. It was such a relief, to see her returning to her usual self.

Helena rubbed her eyes and woke up slightly more. "You were her little friend from the bar, aren't you?"

"Oh yes." He beamed at her. Helena hardly recognized him in that outfit. The last time she had seen him he'd been clad in a red jacket and trying to tempt Bastila into taking a sip from his beer and then later trying to get to dance with him. Compared to her still-rational-but-slightly-taller Bastila and the young twilek trying to sneak a taste of that beer, he had been slightly odd. He was on the shorter side, skinny, and cursed with an irreverent grin. He had been nice enough, a little gormless though, and strange in this formal suit. At least he had shaved and combed his hair.

Nightmares?

"I'm glad you remember me."

"Yes. Can you…?" He snapped into action at her command, bringing coffee and water and her bag over and held the mirror up while she adjusted her hair.

"Now that's better. Well, thank you for visiting me." Unlike my daughter. "Now what is it you want? Surely you didn't come all this way to bring an old woman flowers?"

"You know, it's funny, you remind me a little of my _mom_ …but nah, that can't be right."

She raised a single eyebrow.

"I came to ask you something, Missus Shan." He bowed his head, solemn suddenly. "I'm not sure what customs Talravin had for this sort of thing, but I know I'd like to have your approval."

"My _what_ now?" Oh boy. Helena wished the young man had waited until she'd had her caffe and perhaps a stroll around the small attempt at a park at the center of this place. She also wanted a cigar and for her meals to stay down and for Bastila to be here to explain this little situation here.

He straightened. "I want to ask your daughter to marry me."

"Do you now?" Bastila was just a girl! No, she was an adult, a grown woman and all the more headstrong and independent than she had been as a child. Impossible to picture Bastila mooning over a boy, but during her last visit in this pleasant-enough hospital, she had been quite…happy. Content in some way. A little distracted, but smiling, as she hadn't in that bar. That had been new for Bastila, and yet not _unfamiliar_.

The man was looking at her, his eyes distant, dreamy. Oh, there it was. "I love her."

She had to smile. "Oh do you."

Bastila, the little girl who insisted on stepping in every puddle and could never keep her braids from coming undone, had grown into a pretty young woman. She wasn't that serious little girl, always losing her favorite, beloved, disgusting and certainly no-longer-white tauntaun doll. Helena could recall her birth, that heat and knowledge even through the pain that this screaming child right here, outraged and strong and dark-haired and red-faced, was something _special_. Though, it was hard to picture the frowning girl Helena had given birth to in a wedding gown and with her own family. And yet, she had led this man around on Tatooine hadn't she.

The man was going on and on, "More than _anything_. We've been through so much together. I want her to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

" _Oh_? Is she aware of your intentions?"

"She knows." A nervous smirk crossed his face.

"And does she feel the same way?"

He dropped his gaze. "Yes, ma'am, I suppose she does."

"Then why are you talking to me about this?"

"I want your permission to marry Bastila." He gave a long, low bow. Then spoke to the hospital bed. "I'm old-fashioned that way."

"What exactly can you offer my daughter?"

The boy had been waiting for this. "I'd offer her the galaxy. I'd do anything for her. Together I know we can face any problems that come our way. That's how we defeated Malak."

"Fighting Sith isn't much like marriage, boy."

"I know. Bastila can scare me much more than any Sith I've ever met."

She could, couldn't she. All the better to keep this man in line. Yet Helena didn't appreciate that remark. "That's your wife and my daughter you're talking about."

He gulped. "I'm sorry?"

Helena squinted at him. "And what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a Jedi."

Didn't look like _much_ of a Jedi.

"Don't they have rules against that sort of thing?"

"Kind of." He was chagrined. "But she and I have a special connection when she saved my life. That has to be taken into account. And the Jedi can't afford to kick us out."

Wonderful, he was some rule-breaking idiot that would drag Bastila into another mess. And soon-to-be-unemployed.

"And how will you _support_ my daughter, hm? As far as I know, you Jedi don't make a lot of money."

The man stood a little taller. "I've always been able to find credits when I need them. We can live at the Temple. Or maybe on the Ebon Hawk again. I'll go wherever she wants. Maybe we'll help the Republic. They need all the help they can get."

Travel from ship to ship, drifting through the galaxy. Helena wanted better for her daughter. And Bastila had told her she had returned to the Temple here on Coruscant. "And where are you two living now?"

"We live at the Temple together." His face froze. "Uh. Not _together_. Not sharing a _chamber_."

Helena could have sneered. Oh, she was _sure_. "What about grandkids?"

The man froze and _blushed._ "I-I don't know about that. We haven't discussed that. If she wants kids, I'd be glad—I mean. I would want to be the father."

Helena couldn't _wait_ until her daughter came back to mention this little meeting with her beau. She could already see her daughter gulping, and Bastila would probably try to change the subject so fast. She had been the type of child to hide her cuts and bruises, and would no doubt no want to discuss her romantic life with her mother. Bastila had always avoided discussing her other companions, especially the foolish man that had promised to protect her. Still, Helena would get what she could and give what she could. Bastila had always enjoyed adventure; she was her father's daughter. Let Bastila learn happiness and joy and become a better mother than Helena, if she wanted that life.

And if they had a girl, she hoped they might name it 'Helena.'

"If you two love each other." She paused, remembering her own husband too well. How to sum up those years? How to pass on whatever she had learned from her own life and marriage and child? To this strange man? "You have to promise to always be there for her."

"I will." He bowed his head. "Even when she tried to kill me."

Bastila always did have that temper. Helena bet she had her young man wrapped around her finger.

"I did ask the some of the Masters for advice, but you know. But well, Master Vrook just kind of made this face and then left _really_ fast. Jolee said it was a good idea though. He got married too. Before uh, he left the Order…but that won't happen to us. Bastila and I have both technically fallen to the dark side, but we were able to come back to that."

Helena might not understand this 'dark side' Jedi business, but from what her tired, hurt daughter had explained tentatively, she had been captured from Malak, lost herself, and been saved by her fellow Jedi and friends. "You saved her from Malak?"

"It's more like she saved _herself_ , but I helped. Just like she helped me." His smile was distant, not meant for her. "We help each other. We are partners. We depend on each other. I owe her my life in so many ways."

He was decent _enough_. Not good enough for Bastila, but if this is who Bastila wanted to marry, Helena would give her blessing. She had missed enough of her daughter. Yes, Bastila was a grown woman, as hard as that was to believe. She could make her own decisions, professional and romantic. If this odd little man hurt her, her daughter had that yellow lightsaber of hers. "I have only one condition."

His eyes widened and Helena could see the hope in them. They were dark brown and deep-set. "What's that?"

"You have to propose _quickly_. I would like to attend my only child's wedding." She waved at the IV.

When he grinned, she could almost understand why her daughter might care for this man. "I will."

"And if you ever hurt her, I will rise from my grave and make you wish you'd never been born, boy."

He nodded, serious. "I would never hurt Bastila. And I have dealt with enough ghosts not to piss them off," he vowed.

Maybe he would be a good man for her. Maybe there was something better underneath that face. He _had_ promised to protect her daughter. He was young, but dutiful. Maybe he would be a good husband, and be there for Bastila. Helena would have faith that Bastila knew what she was doing, and had picked the right man for herself. Oh, of course she had; Bastila was not the type to be some lovesick fool. Her daughter would not have chosen some dangerous rouge or idiot to get involved with, Jedi-rule-bending or not. She was much too reasonable for that sort of thing.

She looked at the flowers, reading the card. Briefly, Helena glanced back up at the young man. "What did you say your name was, anyway?"

"Oh, it's Revan."

* * *

She would have been dead anyway, but still, there was this relief at the sight of her impaled on this blade.

You did this. The wound had been cauterized and that was not blood, but the light of her blade spilling out.

She wanted to crouch and watch the life leave those pale gray eyes. She wanted her mother to see her daughter and let that be the last thing she saw. _Understand_. Yet there was already a glaze on those hateful eyes that had always found Bastila no matter where she tried to go, alternatively dismissing and wanting.

Bastila wanted to find pleasure in this. She had wanted to drag it out, draw out the cries, let her know what a failure she was. Revan had told her of how he'd left his first and final Master, and she wanted to explore what he'd felt seeing the one that had judged and wanted to grovel at your feet, to understand that they had gravelly misjudged and could never comprehend you as well as they had thought. She wanted that as she might have any infectious wound, to dig into vulnerable inflamed flesh and quake and marvel.

But Helena Shan looked so _unsurprised_.

Finally, Bastila looked up at her Master. Revan didn't need to say a word. Neither could she, but a thousand swirled around her mind and rested on her dry tongue. Did you feel this way, as we left that world, left our dead friends behind? What was it you felt while you watch Malak die? Was it anything? His own Masters were dead and not at his hand. Her mother had been dying anyway.

She tucked away the holocron, feeling like a _thief_ , feeling…she tried to remember her father's voice and could not. And yet she knew she would not open this holocron either.

So why come here? She didn't need this thing to remember her father. To right a wrong? But they had slipped in as thieves and would slip away in similar fashion.

They left Coruscant and did not return.

* * *

She had to cling to the Code.

Jedi had no families. They had no attachments. There is no death...

Despite how many times she might recite the Code, Bastila felt something tug and scrape; she had not gotten a chance to say goodbye to her mother either.

Yet after all these years, what could have been said to truly make her feel better? To let them both find peace? You sent me to the Order, and it was for the best. It was not a matter of thinking about the life she might have had if she'd stayed with her parents on Talravin, but a matter of thinking: what if we had spoken after I joined, what if I could have seen my Father one last time?

She had her duties and so many things to attend to. The Masters were still wary of giving her so much responsibility after what had occurred, because of the Bond that still pulled her and Revan together. Yet what choice did they have? The galaxy still reeled from the Sith, and the Republic needed all it could get. The Jedi too, had been so severely diminished. Bastila was needed now, if even it no longer so much for her Battle Meditation. Soon, she might be Knighted and given students to continue the Jedi Order.

It had been for the best. There was a reason Jedi separate the younglings from their families. She must remember that, as she should her vows and edicts of the Order.

But Bastila would miss her mother and all they could have said to one another one last time.

* * *

His apprentice so often stepped out of line it was a wonder she'd lasted so long as a Jedi.

Bastila could hardly be expected to knock when she entered a room. She would read every forbidden text and open every holocon and skip to training sessions without pity to whoever dared to face her, then assume he would want to hear all the details of her day and yank the datapads from his hands to toss aside. He tried to set rules, boundaries, as he assumed he had done with his previous apprentice, yet she crushed them beneath her booted foot with a smug little smile.

Revan didn't understand why he allowed her to do this. Force, but what must his generals and captains think? Canderous Ordo had once made a dry joke about how she 'drove the ship' in their relationship, and Revan had only quietly seethed from the veracity of that.

Oh, but how could he deny her? She was his apprentice, and much more useful and powerful than his last, Bastila insisted. Prettier, Revan allowed, and wasn't that the problem. Perhaps that Battle Meditation was certainly helpful, and he had an obscene fondness for her mouth, yet it was all _his_ to command. Then he found himself stumbling around for her, pants literally and metaphorically pulled low, desperate, needy, while she tossed that lovely head back and laughed, oh, Revan, you are mine, _mine_.

And he would grumble and argue only to collapse next to her, loving, hating but not truly, so confused with only sweat and light sheets to offer protection from her. She could strike. She had saved him from one apprentice and learned so much from both her teachers. Yet when Bastila's head found his chest, Revan did not protest.

Though, these homey little visits in the morning might be the thing that killed one of them.

Still, e _ventually,_ and that allowed them to continue. And it _was_ rather pleasant to stop for a cup of tea. She had not done all that to not see him, Bastila had argued, successfully. Then, further this morning, bossed him around in that haughty way of hers. Get dressed, in those robes there; I prefer how you look in them. When she slipped off his mask, Revan was not given a chance to complain as she kept his mouth momentarily preoccupied. Her fingers traced over his forehead, pushing back rough hair. "I simply want to look at you."

He looked at his datapad and watched the Holonet and enjoyed the dusty morning air of Korriban. One morning indulgence could be tolerated. It was good to be unpredictable. Bastila would owe him one for this.

For once, when she stepped through the doorway, she did not complain that he was not worshiping her presence with song and flower petals. "My Mother is coming for a visit," Bastila announced instead.

"A visit?"

Bastila had no right to look so charmingly innocent. For so many reasons. "To stay?" she attempted.

Revan looked up from numbers and so many charts. "Excuse me?"

"I see no reason she should not be here."

There were a _thousand_. They wore gray and black and stalked the hallways with blades and treachery. They ate the dark side and were devoured by it in turn. Only brute force kept them from running loose, and even then, you did not sleep easily here, supposed-partner by your side or alone.

The Revanchist would not have stuttered, but this one was different and it was the Jedi to blame for this, ultimately. "You hate your mother!"

"I do not." She crossed her arms. "I've made my peace with her decisions. You helped me with that, Revan."

Curses.

Well, the woman was near to death anyway. "When will she be coming?"

Those eyes widened in that way of hers. Bastila was _many_ new things now, yet was still a terrible liar. "Soon? Very soon?"

Oh, hell. He was the leader of the Sith, an Emperor, the Revanchist. Yet couldn't even say for certain who his apprentice was bringing onto his Academy? Bastila was a danger. She was a blind spot. He should deal with this. One day, he would regret this. Lenience had given Malak courage, as both of them knew quite well. She was his lover, but he was her Master and—

She rose to her feet with a smile. One not aimed at him. "Mother."

He bared teeth and turned his head. "Hello, Missus Shan."

Her eyes were paler than Bastila it seemed. Suspicious. "Hello. Revan."

"How have you been?" Bastila damn near hugged her mother. She no longer fought her emotions; instead embracing them and letting them fly freely. She did love this woman after all it seemed. There were times when Revan would catch her looked not at Sith holocrons, but at her father's. Her face so young, so wistful, as he spoke of seas and dunes and latest discoveries.

Revan glanced down and noticed his boots had been shined the night before.

"I hope you are well?" Bland small talk was something that even being a Dark Lord could not prevent.

"I am better." Helena glanced at her daughter. "Bastila found some medical personel that have helped as much as they can."

Bastila looked so smug. Such a good daughter. Ah, he wished he wasn't smiling at her. You little fool. Revan, you idiot. She will be the death of me. "You will get whatever you need, Mother."

Helena's laugh was dry. The Shan household hadn't seemed to be a very cheery place, Revan supposed. So Korriban would be just fine for this family reunion. "Girl, there's only so much that can be done."

"Don't say that," Bastila insisted. She would go down fighting, even for others, so long as she considered them worth the effort. "There is power here. You have the resources of the entire Sith empire here for you."

 _Did_ she now?

Revan sighed. He supposed she did.

"I'm sure. I do thank you for that offer, Bastila." She sounded kinder. "I hope I don't take up too much of your time."

"No, Mother." Bastila patted her mother's hands. "Don't you worry about that."

"But I am taking your time. Precious time, I imagine, between running your little 'empire' here. You two should be savoring your time together, now, while you still can."

What _had_ Bastila told her mother, about her and Revan? He might not have his full memories of his time as a Sith Lord, but Revan was very well aware of certain social norms. Perhaps Helena might even join with some fraction to have his overthrown just so he would stop have a dalliance with her daughter.

"You won't have that luxury once you two settle down." Helena had a certain pointed glance.

Settle down? What did that even mean? They were…oh. Oh. Oh no.

…was Bastila blushing? Oh, krif, he was kriffed.

No, Revan drew the line. He was a Sith Lord, Korriban was his, the galaxy was his, and so was Bastila Shan. He could rise and strike down her mother and then her, and that would be for the best. Revan was not an idiot. Those foolish Jedi had given him a second chance and he'd ruined them for it. He had learned his own lessons. You had an apprentice, and you gave them no more than what was necessary. Only an absolute fool would repeat such cataclysmic mistakes.

Sith did not have children. They did not. It was a stupid reckless danger to have offspring, tiny helpless things that needed you so much. Imagine a small infant in his arms, a gray-eyed little girl that laughed and called him father. _Stupidly_ domestic, a tiny doom, a _weakness_. Something writhed and shuddered in his chest. _No._ Revan would not be so weak. He would not allow it, would not let such folly continue.

"We'll see," Bastila decided.

* * *

Thankfully, the sheet hid most of them. There was still the occasional bouts of shyness and bashfulness between them, and neither had protested a little coyness. It could be _alluring_. And perhaps the Force had sent some small signal to them to keep somewhat covered up and pretend they could still have dignity. A small comfort. But It had not told them to lock the door, unfortunately. And, really, even a silhouette could hold too much information.

It was hard to say who screamed first.

Probably Bastila.

Probably.

Or maybe it was him, with his hands still on her hips, looking not across one bare shoulder at those clouded, hungry gray eyes but at the suddenly very open door. Him, this idiot trying to keep the blankets up while looking for his pants and Bastila grabbing for pillows, rolling over, and kicking him away from her. And Bastila could kick very hard.

Or maybe it was her _mother_. Having to see all of this. Any parent would react badly. Especially given that she might know _who_ he had been. At the least, she knew now who he had been doing…

That plus her sickness…

He had nearly killed his lover's mom.

Such a thing really scared ten years off his life. And given the distance Bastila was keeping between them, it was going to be a _long_ ten years. Revan rubbed a freshly bruised forearm and cursed his life.

Bastila was gasping. "Mother. What are you doing here?"

"Seeing where my only daughter was and why she hadn't been to see me!" It was interesting, that both Bastila and her mother had the looked when freaked out, that same frown and yell-y voice. "No wonder you were too busy to see your dying mother!"

"Mother, it wasn't like that. I _have_ been busy." She managed to look so indignant, even covered by just pillows and tresses falling loose from her pigtails, and Bastila did not have very long hair.

"Oh, yes, with this young man right here."

He pretended he wasn't here. Yep. He was back on the Star Forge, facing the best friend he could not remember. Telling Bastila he loved her very much and would not defend himself if she struck. He was back on the _Ebon Hawk_ , trying to get that red sand stash and spilling it _everywhere_. He was tripping over gizka and making Mission laugh. He was on Dantooine, and Master Vrook was making that face, like he could tell that this 'Kal' fellow was most definitely having odd dreams that involved Bastila and oh, the Jedi knew all about them, about _all_ of them. He was waking up on Taris, with Carth there telling him how they had to rescue some Jedi that was just so special.

Then he was noticing the other things around the room. Guilty things. Clothes all thrown about and only their lightsabers neatly put away. Both of them had been busy and hadn't had time for cleaning. There was teacups that hadn't been put away and that bottle of honey that had been used _solely_ for tea now looked incriminating. Did Bastila's mom even know what that mediation mat was for? Did she think that was some _sex_ thing? The bits from a droid he'd meant to use but never did? Those statues they'd gotten from Jolee and Canderous, ok, ok, that one over there with those things did look suspicious now that Revan noticed it.

"I have been in to see you." Bastila's face was very red.

"Not this week! I guess visiting your sick mother just slipped out of your mind."

"I have been busy with Jedi duties!"

"Is that was _this_ is?" She could sneer so well. Revan tightened the sheet around his waist. If he ducked his head lower, perhaps he might just disappear.

"No." Bastila was very close to being speechless for once. How to explain, all of this? The Jedi looked slightly lost. It was unfair, how distracting she looked lying on her back with strategic pillows on her. It was unfair. And it hurt a little how she struggled to find words to describe him. She was capable of them, Revan knew, of saying and announcing them loudly before the Jedi Council and a shocked Revan, and whispering them into his ear while her nails dragged against his back. But that suddenly didn't seem to be enough. "This is…"

"I _know_ who he is, girl." Oh. Oh no. But maybe..."He is that Revanchist fellow we all thought was dead. We thought _you_ had killed him."

His lover jumped, slightly. "I hadn't realized…"

"Of course I did. It's all over the Holonet. You think I didn't recognize him?"

He felt conscious of his scars, his dumb face and mussed hair and lack of pants. He wished Bastila's mother would go away. Yet Helena seemed quite comfortable standing there, staring them down. All too aware of what they had been up to, and it was not unlike being before the Masters again. Bastila had been so brave then, unafraid to take his surprised hand and announce to everyone that they had relationship, they were in love, and she had never felt so at peace.

Bastila swallowed. "Well. I didn't kill him."

Her mother would not dignify that with a response. She sniffed and asked, "Are you Jedi even allowed to do this sort of thing?"

"Uh." Not exactly. Not really. Not quite.

"Is that all you have to say? I'm certain those Jedi said you were not allowed to have a family. Surely they have rules against you getting married?"

"We…"

"Uh."

"Oh, I see." Helena tried to murder Revan with her mind.

He wanted to go back to fighting Malak. Right now. The ex-Sith Lord had betrayed him, had tried to murder him so many times, but at least he had never grilled Revan on his future plans with Bastila.

"It's complicated," Bastila protested.

"I'm sure."

"I've tried..." Revan tried.

" _No_ , Revan. Mother. Enough."

Revan tried not to die under the force of these Shan glares.

"Oh, I see. Sending your sick mother out, hm. I'll just leave you two kids alone then, shall I?"

For a moment, Revan had a foolish hope.

"Of course not," Bastila spat. "I simply need a minute to dress."

They got dressed, and Revan got sadder.

Oh, there would be another time, he knew. They would have a lifetime together. And he was cautiously optimistic that Bastila would return to their bed in the next year. Still, he wished that Helena had waited just another ten minutes. Or twenty. An hour.

Perhaps he and Bastila would have been lazing in the afterglow and it would have been bad, would have been terrible, but not as bad as this. One of them would be lying there, with the one resting their head on their chest and both at peace. How to explain that, though? We were…wrestling? Nude? It's a Jedi thing. At least he wouldn't be so terribly _distracted_ and sad as he was now.

Bastila made tea and an impressive impression of a grown woman that had not been caught in the middle of having sex with her clandestine Sith lover by her mother. She looked the same as ever in that familiar brown tunic and trousers, just slightly suspiciously messed. Her eyes were clear and Revan ran fingers through his own hair and hoped he made something somewhat respectable.

I am not only a cad only here to take your daughter's virtue. Oh, but I am that Revan fellow. You know. The murderous dictator that created a war. Cookie?

They sat apart as carefully as they did before the other Jedi. Especially in the cafeteria that the Jedi insisted was a common eating area and not something as common as a 'cafeteria.' Their plain couches seemed normal and non-sexed crazed. What little they had in the kitchen made Revan wince, and he hoped Helena didn't think he was unable to provide for her daughter. She did not want a cookie.

When he offered Helena honey for her tea, she sniffed and gave the half-empty bottle a suspicious glance at it, and then him. Revan put right back down.

No. Oh no. Not…with this bottle. Oh Force.

"As I was saying, Mother, I have been preoccupied with my official duties. It had nothing to do with Revan. Well, besides cleaning up...never mind."

She had been honest about being busy with things that did not involve a naked Revan. Well, alright, sometimes did occasionally involve that, but only at a _set_ time schedule and in her free time. Like at lunch or on her break hour or when her shift at the Temple stacking datapads or showing children the right way to hold a lightsaber was over, or hadn't yet arrived. But so what? She deserved her own…hobbies. No one had the right to eat away at Bastila like they had during the war, with their rules and orders and fear. If she had insisted, fearlessly, on telling the Jedi Masters that she would be sharing a single room with Revan, then who could tell her no?

They told her she was a fool, a danger to herself and to others, and Revan was all the worst. They said the two would fall to the dark side, that they were young and confused and foolish. Bastila had so recently fallen and Revan had no right to corrupt another Jedi. What did they know of being a Jedi, of restraint, of anything? Yet in that apartment, together, they had never been safer.

Bastila had rejoined the Order with more enthusiasm that many had expected. Not just enthusiasm, but _patience_. If anything, her grace, humility and peace they found at times all the more distressing. She was lovers with Revan, what right did she have to smile and offer advice to younglings. They didn't understand. How she could go through so much and still love and forgive and not see past Revan's past, but look at it and _understand_ and _accept_. After all the pressure the Jedi had put on her, how dare some act so surprised that she could still have a sense of humor and a sense of self.

They needed her and Revan. And they were a package deal.

Revan wanted to explain that to Helena, yet could not.

So all three of them sipped tea.

Helena looked at the holos. One of them at Manaan caught her eye. "Is it too much to hope that was not your honeymoon?"

"No, of course it wasn't."

"Ah. Of course not. You two are not planning on getting married. I know I won't live to see any grandchildren—"

"Mother!"

Revan did his best not to choke. He wanted cookies and to be back in the swoop racer that could explode at any moment.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Recently." Her shrug was helpless. "Much after Father passed. Things just happened."

Revan was not happy.

Bastila noticed. "That's not to say I am disappointed. But I couldn't have expected I'd develop a relationship with a Sith Lord."

The _ex_ -Sith Lord raised his hand. "I knew from the moment I met Bastila that we were destined to be together."

Her eyebrows contracted. "You did not," she scolded, but lightly, questioningly. Bastila could still be taken aback by his affection. You saw it the width of her eyes when he woke her up with kisses to the shoulder, gathering her hair in his hands and pushing it away to find her neck. In the way she whispered _good morning_ so carefully, and he would grin and ask if she wanted to make it a _great morning,_ a _fantastic_ morning. It often turned out that she did.

"Yes, the moment I saw you in that outfit…"

"Revan!"

If they were to be hideous and tell her mother everything, then they should just do it.

Helena raised a single eyebrow.

"I knew she was amazing from the way she hardly drooled from the neutral collar. And when she denied that I saved her. I can guarantee you, Taris had never been the same for me."

Bastila shook her head. "I swear, Revan is capable of acting like an adult on occasion."

"You love me and you know it."

Her smile was small but still. Revan could get lost in that look. "I suppose I do."

Helena Shan did not roll her eyes, but clearly wanted to.

He clapped his hands and tried to be charming. "We should have dinner. All three of us. To discuss things."

"I suppose I have bothered you two enough."

"It's no bother." But please knock loudly next time you come to visit.

"I do expect you to visit me, occasionally, dear."

Bastila was sheepish. "Yes, Mother."

Helena's stare was pointed. "Or I will make another unannounced visit."

Bastila winced. "Yes, Mother."

There were a soggy silence after her mother left. They were supposed to stew in it, and he counted the walls while Bastila recovered.

Revan slunk closer to her.

"I'm…glad we had this opportunity to talk to my mother," the Jedi attempted bravely.

"It's good, maybe, that we could be uh, upfront about our relationship with her. Unless you didn't want her to know." He tried not to frown. Understandable, that Bastila might not want to tell her sick mother that she was currently shacked up with an ex-Sith Lord.

"I want her to know." She took his hand, formally, gently. The full weight and width of her emotions caught him off-guard through their Bond. They hid nothing from each other anymore, but actively reaching through it, letting the other person in, could be overwhelming. "I am not ashamed of you, Revan. _Never_."

He spun and fell, but it wasn't the dark side. What a shock. Not to find out he was Revan, to find out what he'd done in another life, what had been done to him, but to find that he could still love and be loved in return. He was overcome and amazed, and how could Revan be rewarded with all he'd done with this life?

He loved her he loved her

"I love you too." Her kiss was warm and she always seemed a little surprised when she did that, and that he would kiss back. "Now that _that_ is settled, would you like to return to our bed?"

And should this woman here add another title, another description, besides Bastila Shan the _Last Hope of the Republic_ , the S _ith's Bain_ , _once Malak's apprentice_ , in possession of the most powerful Battle Meditation ability in a generation, Revan's lover, and add ones that went _wife, mother,_ Revan would be just as glad to add new ones to his own complicated list: _father, husband._

He gathered her into his arms, a man with his love and nothing but the simply pleasure in his minds. Her kiss was unafraid. He was a lucky man. More than that, he was a _happy_ man. Especially when Bastila muttered through their kiss, "And grab that honey over there too. _Never mind_ what Mother said."


End file.
